


love me like you do

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Birthday, Birthday Sex, Biting, Body Worship, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Carry Fuck, Carrying, Clubbing, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Keith calls Shiro princess, Keith is strong, M/M, Marking, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Nicknames, Not Season/Series 08 Compliant, Paladins, Possessive Keith, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Service Top Keith (Voltron), Team as Family, Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: “So, I think,” Shiro says slowly, licking his lips and hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, “you said something about giving me everything I wanted.”“Oh yeah, and what exactly does the birthday boy want?” Keith asks. He wants to touch Shiro so bad his fingers twitch, but once he gets his hands on him he knows he won’t be able to stop and he wants to hear what Shiro has in mind—wants to give him exactly what he wants."Or, the one where Keith gives Shiro the birthday fucking of his life.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 97
Kudos: 353





	love me like you do

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for bottom Shiro week 2020 and also Shiro's birthday (but I'm posting early because Shiro deserves all the birthday celebrations!).
> 
> All the love to whiskyandwildflowers for the incredible beta job. As always you are invaluable. <3

Keith glances down at his watch, sighing heavily as he realizes he’s nearly an hour late. He makes his way through the crowded parking lot but stops dead at the sight of the long line of people waiting to get into the club. He should’ve expected this, it’s a Saturday after all, but Keith had stupidly hoped it wouldn’t be as crowded as he feared. It isn’t as if Keith has much experience with clubs to go on. 

This entire club scenario was all Hunk and Lance’s idea—even Pidge and Allura had gotten in on it when the club had been suggested. The second their friends had heard Shiro hadn’t had a birthday celebration since before Kerberos, they’d gotten it into their head he needed to have a wild night to let loose. As much as Keith thought Shiro deserved that, he’d wholeheartedly expected Shiro to decline. But instead of declining, a faint pink flush had spread across his cheeks as he’d shrugged and said _if it's important to all of you I guess we could do that_.

The closer it got to Shiro’s birthday, the more sure Keith became that the person most looking forward to their night out was Shiro. He’d caught him styling his hair in the mirror three nights in a row, noticed a new bottle of cologne appear on his dresser, and this morning there’d been a new outfit laid out ready and waiting including a pair jeans that didn’t actually look like they’d fit over Shiro’s thighs and a soft white shirt made out of some Altean silk—an early birthday gift from Allura.

Keith had intended to be done with work early enough to sneak back to their shared room on Atlas and get a sneak peek of Shiro in his birthday outfit. He’d barely been able to wish him good morning by waking him up with a birthday blowjob and coffee in bed before they’d both had to abandon their lazing in bed for actual adult responsibilities. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Keith had gotten here when he was supposed to, but despite having already cleared his schedule and telling every person he ran into in no uncertain terms he would not be working overtime, he got roped into sitting in on one of the conference calls with the Puigians with the promise that the call—apparently a necessity for a trade agreement between the the Puigians and Earth—would not take long. Normally that kind of call is Shiro’s territory. He’s the big man on Earth—figuratively and literally. He’s the one diplomats and Garrison Officials alike flock to when they need reassurances or help smoothing over tricky intergalactic cooperation and trade agreements. 

Except Keith wasn’t about to let anyone call Shiro into a last minute conference call. Not today. Not on his birthday. The first _real_ birthday he’s had since the end of the war, what with today being a leap day.

So Keith had done exactly what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do and plastered on a smile, feigning more confidence in his abilities to act as a diplomatic peacekeeper than he felt, and joined the meeting. A meeting which, exactly as Keith feared, had gone long.

Which left Keith running late, with Shiro and the others already at the club without him.

 _We will meet you inside. Tell the bouncer you’re the Black Paladin to skip the line. See you soon, mullet head. I promise to take care of the birthday boy_ was the message Lance had sent to his datapad during the meeting.

Keith had sworn he was absolutely not going to draw attention to himself and his status as Defender of the Universe to bypass a line. Keith hates attention, especially for doing what any decent person would’ve done if their positions were reversed. Keith’s not special. He’s just lucky. 

He doesn’t feel so lucky now though. The line to get inside the club is wrapped all the way around the corner, the music from inside filtering through the closed doors. If Keith waits in this line like everyone else, he’s going to miss the entire celebration and any chance of seeing Shiro in that pretty silk shirt.

Steeling his nerves, Keith steps out of line and moves down the sidewalk. He can feel the mutters of people who think he’s a line-cutter, or those who recognize him, and he pulls his leather jacket a little tighter. He can do this. For Shiro.

“Back of the line is there,” the bouncer says in a low rumble, nodding his head towards the side of the building.

 _For Shiro_ Keith reminds himself. He’d do anything for Shiro. Including, apparently this.

“I don’t think I need to wait in line,” Keith says, feeling like a complete fucking asshole. “You might recognize me as the Red or Black Paladin of Voltron. Defender of the Universe. Member of the Blade of—”

“Oh my god,” the bouncer mumbles, eyes widening in recognition. “I’m so sorry, Sir. Right this way, Sir.”

Keith forces on a polite smile and fights off every urge to laugh at the idea of being called _Sir_ as the bouncer opens the velvet rope and steps aside for Keith. The only plus side to the entire interaction is that Lance isn’t around to witness it and lord it over him for the next decade.

As Keith makes his way into the club it occurs to him that he has no idea where everyone is. Any silly ideas about just spotting them right away fades as he winds through the throngs of people dancing—the music loud and pulsing in his ears. All around him people are drinking and dancing and having a good time. Someone taps him on the shoulder, offering to buy him a drink and Keith shakes his head and slips away. The only person he’s interested in is Shiro—tonight and forever.

After ten minutes of aimlessly wandering around the edge of the dance floor, Keith finally spots Lance, Hunk, and Pidge over at one of the large booths in the corner—some kind of VIP section if the second bouncer guarding the small row of booths is any indication. Knowing they’re his best chance of finding Shiro, he makes his way over.

“These are reserved,” the bouncer says, before Keith can even get a word out. He holds out an arm out to block Keith from moving up the small set of stairs. 

“I know he’s not really cool enough to be up here, but he’s with us,” Lance yells, standing on the booth seat and drawing as much attention as possible to himself. “He’s a friend of mine. You know me, the Blue Paladin and Defender of the Universe and most attractive Paladin.”

Lance sways, a bit of the beer in his hand spilling and Keith frowns. Drunk. He’s drunk.

Keith wishes he had a drink just so he could throw it at Lance.

The bouncer shrugs and drops his arm.

“Keeeeith, you’re here,” Pidge happily exclaims, throwing an arm around Keith’s waist.

“Hey, buddy,” Hunk says, sipping his own fruit drink with a little umbrella and giving Keith a cursory wave. He looks relaxed, more so than usual. And happy. They all look happy. Gone are the stress lines and exhaustion that mar their faces on most days as they each work tirelessly to stabilize Earth and intergalactic relations, as they’ve done every day in the last year and a half since the war ended. It makes something in Keith’s chest feel funny to see them all so relaxed. It’s nice.

“About time, mullet,” Lance crows, hopping off the booth seat and splashing a bit more beer onto his shoes and ruining the moment. 

“Keith, Keith, Keith,” Pidge chants, throwing her arms around Keith's middle. “I really love you. You’re such a good leader, Keith.”

The funny feeling in Keith’s chest blossoms. These people aren’t just his team anymore. They’re his family and Keith loves them. Even Lance and the stupidly annoying face he’s making right now. 

“I’m not that late,” Keith laughs, hugging Pidge back before helping her sit down. “How are you all drunk?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m comfortably buzzed,” Hunk grins.

“I’m not drunk either,” Lance says, but when he moves to sit, his ass misses the booth seat and he goes straight to the ground. Pidge dissolves into laughter.

Yeah, they’re definitely drunk.

“We...we kidnapped Shiro early,” Pidge says between laughter. “We were afraid he’d try to work late. We’ve been here for hours.”

Well, that at least explains why they’re all drunk already.

“Yeah, we didn’t want him to get roped into working late. Like someone else we all know,” Lance said in an obnoxious sing-song voice. He was still sitting on the floor and apparently content to stay there.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault I—” but Keith stops as a thought occurs to him. 

If all of their friends are already drunk, or on their way to it, then Shiro very well might be too. Shiro, who has never really been able to hold his liquor despite his size and who almost never drinks. An image of Shiro drunk flashes through his mind, immediately followed by a gut rush of panic. If Shiro is drunk then his defenses will be down. Someone could hurt him.

“Where’s Shiro?” Keith asks, already feeling stupid for the initial panic at Shiro missing. Old habits die hard sometimes.

Pidge rolls onto her back and stretches out over the length of the booth seat as she pats Lance’s head like he’s a puppy. “At the bar with Allura. They’ve been gone forever.”

“Yeah, dude. I was starting to think someone kidnapped them. They just went to get another round and were supposed to be back with the drinks ages ago.”

Keith squashes down his gut reaction to panic, reminding himself that the war is over and Shiro is with Allura. He looks around at all of his friends and inhales a deep breath, exhaling slowly. It’s a club, it’s time for fun. Keith definitely needs to turn off the _fight or flight_ part of his brain. He needs to calm the fuck down.

“So, uh...where exactly is Shiro?” Keith asks, eyes darting across the crowded dance floor in sight of Shiro’s glimmering hair. He might not be worried anymore, but it doesn't mean he isnt anxious to find him. 

Hunk snorts. “At the bar, dude. You’re so one track minded sometimes.”

Keith waves a hand in his general direction, not bothering to tell them where he’s going since Lance and Pidge have dissolved into some discussion about which one of them Shiro likes more, and Hunk probably knew where Keith was going before Keith did. He spares them one last glance before turning back to assess the situation. If he goes back down the stairs where he came up it’ll take him at least ten minutes to get through the crowd to the other side of the club. He leans over Pidge to peer down behind the backside of the booth which borders the second dance floor. It’s a good ten-foot drop on that side but Keith’s done worse, and he remembers pursuing the layout on his datapad earlier that week—the bar is that way too.

It’s not even a question—Keith wants to find Shiro and fast. Decision made, Keith climbs over a spluttering Pidge, braces himself on the edge of the leather and then hops over the back of the booth and down the ten feet or so to the dance floor. He smiles awkwardly at the couple he startles and ignores the wayward stares and murmurs from the people around him who weren’t too preoccupied dancing to notice his unconventional descent. The floor is crowded, mostly with humans and few aliens, and it's clear more than one of them has recognized Keith. He can’t regret his choice though, it was the quickest shortcut to the bar and worth any undesired extra attention because he’s able to make it through the crowds into the next room where the bar is. 

He spots Shiro immediately—his back to Keith as he leans against the bar. Everything about him is recognizable from his wide stance, tiny waist, and broad shoulders, to his luminescent white hair and the glowing prosthetic. Allura is at his side, leaning in to whisper something that has Shiro throwing his head back in raucous laughter. 

The worry that had taken hold of Keith morphs into something else—something soft—as he watches Shiro hip check Allura and kiss her cheek. Even from a good twenty feet behind them, the lack of tension in Shiro’s body is apparent. Whatever he and Allura have been up to, Shiro is safe and happy, and a tendril of affection takes root in Keith’s chest. The closer he gets, the bigger that feeling of fondness grows. It takes Keith by surprise to realize he can’t even recall the last time he’d seen Shiro this relaxed. They’ve had more than their fair share of nights out alone or with their friends but this, this is something different.

Under the neon flourescent lighting, the weight that Shiro carries day by day and the responsibility he still shoulders to protect the universe seems to have vanished. There at the bar, he’s just a man having a good time. 

Keith’s only a few feet away when he hears Shiro’s melodic laughter again and he wants to bottle that sound up forever—a memory to shield against the sadness on darker days. Hopefully, the things that haunt them won’t creep in tonight or tomorrow, or even the day after. In fact, it might not happen for weeks, or months if they’re really lucky. Keith isn’t optimistic enough to think their demons won’t resurface at some point no matter how calm things have felt recently—they both have enough trauma that its’ not possible, Shiro more so even than Keith. The war is far enough behind them that each of their nightmares are fewer are further between, but they're still there simmering beneath the surface.

The first anniversary of the last battle had been hell on Shiro’s nerves—his nights plagued by flashbacks the likes of which Keith hadn’t seen since he’d first rescued Shiro from the Garrison. But that was nearly four months ago now, and Shiro’s been looking brighter and happier every week. It makes Keith feel hopeful for the kind of future with Shiro he’d never dared to dream of—something peaceful and domestic and disgustingly sappy where Keith gets to spend a lifetime making Shiro as happy as he makes Keith. 

Sometimes the future still feels like a bit of a vague concept. He and Shiro are both getting better at planning ahead, at being able to acknowledge what they want without fear that giving those hopes a voice will jinx their chance of happening somehow, but it’s still easier for him to focus on the present—on what he already has, not what he might have. But Keith can’t worry about the future tonight. This is now, and right now Shiro is having a moment he’s worked so hard for. Shiro is happy and carefree in a way that makes Keith heart viscerally ache. 

Shiro laughs again as he lifts some brightly-colored drink to his lips and sips it through a straw. He deserves this. They both deserve this.

Sometimes Keith wonders if being with Shiro after so many years of longing has made him soft, or maybe he was always like this and too afraid to let it out. At least until Shiro—until he knew unconditional love and support. 

Of course, all of Keith’s soft thoughts rapidly shift into something far more salacious when Shiro turns around—his back against the bar and his hips turned out as he leans back on his elbows. The way he’s leaning has his jeans stretched tight over the width of his thick thighs. Keith’s eyes travel up the length of Shiro’s long legs and the visible dick pick. His jeans were definitely tailored at some point because there’s no waist gap, and instead they fit snug against Shiro’s impossibly small waist, highlighting the width of his shoulders.

As Keith’s eyes trail up his mouth goes dry at the sight of the fluid material of the shirt clinging to every one of Shiro’s hard-earned muscles. Keith knows Shiro is insanely fit. Keith sees him naked every day. But there’s something about seeing Shiro dressed like this that makes Keith’s entire body flush with desire. 

He’d been so relieved to find Shiro safe and happy he’d been too distracted to pay attention to the way the thin white material clings to Shiro’s body. 

He’s paying attention now. 

Most of the time Shiro is dressed to the nines in his Admiral’s uniform with his pristinely polished shoes and not a single button out of place. If it’s in private—just the two of them and Kosmo on Atlas—then he’s used to seeing Shiro in a pair of hideously worn sweats and his favorite tank top. It’s nothing fancy but it’s the most stripped-down version of Shiro, a version Keith knows he’s the only one allowed to see, and he’s beautiful. Every version of Shiro is beautiful. But this...this is something else entirely.

In all the years Keith has known Shiro ,he’s never seen him dressed like _this_. This is Shiro dressed like he knows exactly how fucking sexy it is, and it makes Keith want to drop to his knees in the middle of the club.

Usually Shiro scoffs at being called beautiful or sexy, brushes off Keith’s praise with a pleased but bashful smile and moves along. Keith’s not sure how Shiro will react to being called pretty tonight, but Keith can’t fucking wait to find out.

Shiro is dressed like a wet dream and Keith’s dick jumps to attention as he takes a few long moments to continue to stare. While it was hanging in the closest, Keith had privately wondered if the shirt from Allura might be too small. Now he doesn’t think it, he knows it; it’s not a little too snug, it looks painted on. Every inch of Shiro’s body is on display, from the flex of muscles in his stomach that shift beneath the fluttering fabric when he laughs, to his dusty pink nipples erect and poking through the fabric. Shiro’s got the top few buttons of his shirt undone to reveal an expanse of pale skin, the sharp angle of his left clavicle and the thin gold chain with the ring Keith had given him for his birthday that morning laying against the delicate hollow of his throat.

Shiro is the sexiest thing Keith’s ever seen.

He’s also pushing off the bar and walking right towards Keith. It shouldn’t make Keith’s chest flutter with nerves or his heart begin to race. They’ve been together nearly ten months now. Keith pretty much lives in Shiro’s captain’s quarters on Atlas. They’re as good as engaged without saying it because the moment they started they both knew they were in it for the long run.

So no, Keith shouldn’t be standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor blushing that his own boyfriend is coming to talk to him. Except Shiro is looking at him in a way he usually reserves for the bedroom. As he struts across the floor—and there’s no other word for it, he’s fucking _strutting_ —his eyes travel up and down the length of Keith’s body in appreciation. It makes Keith feel hot under the collar, and squirmy, and makes his stupid dick harden even further so that there’s no denying he’s hard in his jeans just from fucking looking at Shiro. Any hopes Shiro won’t notice are futile because his eyes pause at Keith’s crotch, eyes widening in surprise then his lips curling up in pleasure. 

Keith had been in such a rush to get to the club he hadn’t had time to shower, had simply shoved on the first pair of clean jeans and t-shirt he could find, thrown his messy hair into a haphazard little ponytail, and put on his leather jacket. He’s nothing special. He’s a fucking mess. But Shiro isn’t eyeing Keith like he’s a gremlin who ran out of time to clean up nicely for his boyfriend’s birthday outing. Shiro’s eyeing him like he’s something gorgeous—something special—and it makes Keith’s body flush with arousal.

The closer Shiro gets, the more Keith’s heart races. By the time Shiro is standing in front of him, crowding into Keith’s personal space, his heart is thudding against his ribs louder than the music pounding in his ears.

“I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” Shiro whispers, his lips quirking up in the corner.

Keith snorts. Shiro is such a nerd and Keith loves him so fucking much.

“Oh, I dunno,” Keith feigns, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to stop himself from touching Shiro. Keith’s not sure what Shiro is playing at, but he’s definitely down for it. “I don’t usually talk to strangers.”

Shiro barks out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corner as he places his left hand on Keith’s waist. “Oh baby, I won't be a stranger by the end of the night.”

Keith inhales sharply as Shiro’s thumb wheedles its way beneath the hem of his shirt to rub at his hip bone. _Oh._ So that’s what Shiro wants to play.

“Dance with me,” Keith says. 

Neither of them are much for dancing, at least not in public, but the music is pounding in tune with Keith’s heart, and Shiro is so close, and Keith wants to feel Shiro’s body rocking against his. Then there’s the fact that all around them Keith can feel the stares of people around them as they begin to recognize Shiro and a small, primal part of Keith wants everyone looking to know Shiro is _his_.

Keith hasn’t had anything to drink yet but he feels drunk already—drunk on Shiro.

“Yes,” Shiro breathes, his face so close to Keith. He smells like the new cologne sitting on the dresser, and his breath is sweet and definitely tinged with alcohol. It’s heady and Keith wants more. 

Now that Keith’s done the asking, he’s not sure what else to do. His brain was focused on what he wanted, not what he was capable of. It’s only as Shiro’s metal fingers curl around his other hip that Keith realizes he has no fucking idea how to dance to whatever song is blaring through the speakers.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Shiro intones, his voice rich as honey as he gives Keith’s hips a little squeeze and begins to rock them side to side.

Following Shiro’s lead is easy. Keith’s followed him to death and back, surely he can follow his lead on the dance floor. Not that Shiro has a lot of experience dancing at clubs, but he’s drunk enough that there’s none of the usual hesitation or bashfulness that would usually mar his features at the idea of so many people watching him do this.

Slowly Keith relaxes, feels the tension slipping away as he begins to move in time with the bass. Keith’s pretty sure he’s dancing like shit, but Shiro hasn’t taken his eyes off him, watching the sway of his hips like it's the most alluring thing he’s ever seen, and it makes Keith feel powerful.

The music slows to a stop for a few seconds but Shiro’s hands never leave Keith’s hips. A new song begins to play, the tempo even faster than before. There’s something intense about the frantic beat of the drum in this one and the primal pulse of the bass. The music floods Keith’s veins and Keith feels bold. 

“You’re so pretty,” Shiro tells him, practically yelling to be heard over the music. A few people turn their heads and instead of blushing, Keith preens.

He doesn’t like it so much when other people talk about his looks. People usually underestimate him because he doesn’t fit their physical expectations of a member of the Blades or a Paladin. They see the delicateness of his features and assume Keith is delicate. 

It’s different when Shiro says it. Everything is different when Shiro says it.

“So damn pretty,” Shiro repeats, even louder than before.

“Like what you see?” Keith asks, feeling bold. He knows Shiro does. Shiro tells him daily. But Keith’s never felt quite like this, has never felt as desired as he does right now with Shiro’s thumbs sneaking beneath the waistband of his jeans to tug him closer.

“Fuck yes,” Shiro says, rolling his hips against Keith.

It’s obscene. If anyone is watching, and Keith’s pretty sure they are, they’re getting an eyeful. Yet Keith can’t care. He doesn’t care what anyone else staring at them right now might think or see. All he cares about is Shiro.

Boldness growing, Keith pushes Shiro’s hands off his hips, ignoring the whine that falls from his lips. He doesn’t give Shiro time to be disappointed for long, turning around and backing up. He rests his body back against Shiro’s chest, tilting his neck up as he throws his arms up to wrap around Shiro’s neck as he rocks his hips from side to side—rubbing his ass against Shiro’s jean-covered erection.

Shiro angles his head down, making a needy sound against the shell of Keith’s ear as his hands come around the front to rove up and down the flat of Keith’s stomach. He rucks Keith’s shirt up, splaying his left hand over Keith’s quivering belly as he rolls his hips against Keith’s ass.

Keith’s dick is so fucking hard.

“Look at you sweetheart, fucking look at you.”

Keith jaw quivers. “Only want you to be looking.”

The sound Shiro makes at those words is a sound that’ll be burned into Keith’s brain for all of time—something devestating, erotic, and raw.

“I’m looking,” Shiro says, his palm sliding down enough that he gets his entire pinky under the waistband of Keith’s jeans and boxers. He wiggles it back and forth until he finds the tip of Keith’s aching dick then toys the tip of the tiny finger along his cockhead, swirling it in the bit of precome at the tip.

Keith very nearly comes right then and there. Distantly it occurs to him that if Shiro gets any more brazen they might actually get kicked out of the club, which would result in a cover story in the paper that neither of them will want to deal with. He should probably be more responsible than to let Shiro fondle his dick in the middle of a crowded club.

He really should be.

But then Shiro inches his hand down, the palm grazing across Keith’s treasure trail and allowing Shiro’s pinky to slide along the underside of his cock.

 _Fuck responsible_ Keith thinks, arching his hips to try and get some more friction.

Shiro’s prosthetic settles on his right hip, squeezing firmly to hold him in place.

“You know today’s my birthday,” Shiro says, dragging his bottom lip over the shell of Keith’s ear.

“Yeah?” Keith stutters, nearly going cross-eyed when Shiro rubs his dick against Keith’s ass again.

“Mhhmm,” Shiro hums, pulling the bottom of Keith’s ear between his teeth. He lets it go and Keith shivers as Shiro continues. “That means I get anything I want today.”

“I’ll give you anything you want forever,” Keith grunts, twisting his fingers in the short hair at the back of Shiro’s head and trying to push him down so he’ll bite Keith’s ear again. 

Shiro gets the hint, rubbing his nose into the side of Keith’s cheek before sucking his ear into his mouth and nibbling on the delicate flesh. Fuck. It’s what Keith wanted, but it’s also horrible because Keith is so fucking horny and he might actually die if he doesn't get to be naked with Shiro soon. Except Keith just got here. The night is still young and they’ve got hours still to celebrate here. There’s the secret cake he and Allura arranged that the owner of the club is bringing out at midnight, and the balloons, and...and Keith is going to die.

Shiro lets Keith’s ear fall from his mouth and whispers, “Fuck me.”

Keith nearly screams.

“Can’t leave yet, it’s your birthday remember,” Keith tries. He absolutely will not ruin the cake surprise. Allura would kill him and Shiro deserves that fucking eight layer cake—a different flavor in each layer and a fancy little recreation of Atlas made out of fondant and chocolate on the top.

Keith will not ruin Shiro’s birthday just for sex. He won't.

The metal fingers gripping Keith’s hip move, digging around in Shiro’s pocket then floating in front of Keith’s face—dangling between them is a small gold key attached to a gilded keychain with the words VIP engraved on it.

“Who says we have to leave,” Shiro whispers. “The VIP section of the club comes with its own bathroom. A private bathroom.”

Keith takes one deep breath before rocking forward out of Shiro’s grasp. When he turns around there’s unmistakable arousal and excitement on Shiro’s face. Keith’s never had sex in a bathroom, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

“Alright, birthday boy,” Keith laughs, holding out his hand.

Shiro’s responding grin is ripe with satisfaction as he links his fingers with Keith’s and leads them through the crowd—who part easily when they see Shiro coming. Keith can only imagine what anyone who is paying enough attention will think about Shiro and Keith disappearing together up the private staircase in the back. He finds that he doesn’t care.

If anything, it sends a thrill down his spine. So much so that Keith isn’t even embarrassed about what he does next—slipping his right hand into Shiro’s back pocket to squeeze his ass in the hopes someone is looking as they ascend the small staircase leading to the private bathroom. He’s got it on good authority at least half the people there wish Shiro was theirs, but he’s Keith’s.

Shiro is Keith’s and if Keith has his way, he’s gonna fuck Shiro so good every single person in that club will know when they leave. 

He lets Shiro take the lead, grazing his hands up and down Shiro’s back as Shiro fumbles to get the key in the lock. 

“Baby, you’re distracting me,” Shiro laughs, but he arches his ass back against Keith just the same. 

“Gonna do more than that in a minute,” Keith tells him, emboldened by their small amount of privacy. If someone were standing at the bottom stairs and looking directly up then they might see. But they’re not. Or at least, Keith doesn’t think they are. 

“What are you—oh,” Shiro gasps as Keith drops to his knees and nuzzles his nose against Shiro’s ass. It would be better if Shiro’s jeans weren’t in the way, preventing Keith from nosing against soft flesh and then deeper to get his nose and tongue between his crease, to lick his way into Shiro’s most private spot. For now, Keith’s content to tease, just like Shiro was doing on the dance floor—getting a mouth full of denim as he bites at Shiro’s right cheek and palms at his thick thighs. 

Shiro grunts out something unintelligible as Keith’s hands slip in between his legs and up to cup at his balls, giving them a firm squeeze. 

“Fuck,” Shiro curses, the key ring jangling as he finally slides the key into the lock and turns it. 

Shiro doesn’t often curse and Keith loves when he does, loves seeing all the layers of poise Shiro plasters on fade away until nothing is left but the raw edges he only shares with Keith. That, and the words always sound extra naughty falling from Shiro’s lips.

“Fuck...yes,” Keith agreed, trying to get another bite into Shiro’s other asscheek. 

Apparently Shiro has other ideas though, because he steps out of Keith’s reach and through the open doorway, then spins on his heels. There’s a noticeable wet spot forming in his jeans, and Shiro’s neck and the bit of his chest visible through the shirt are covered in a sheen of sweat and splotchy red. He runs his metal fingers through his hair making the bangs stand on end before his hands drop down to palm his dick through his jeans. 

His lips fall open on a moan as he tips his head back, flipping open the button on his jeans to shove a hand down his pants and giving his dick a firm squeeze. It takes Keith all of two seconds to scramble off the floor into a standing position and practically crash into Shiro, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot. 

There’s a moment of pause where Keith wonders if the door locks automatically or if he’s supposed to lock it, but he can’t be bothered to check when Shiro is standing there looking like sex on legs with his cockhead peeking out of the little gap where his jeans are undone and looking at Keith with something unabashedly needy in his eyes. 

“So, I think,” Shiro says slowly, licking his lips and hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, “you said something about giving me everything I wanted.”

“Oh yeah, and what exactly does the birthday boy want?” Keith asks. He wants to touch Shiro so bad his fingers twitch, but once he gets his hands on him he knows he won’t be able to stop and he wants to hear what Shiro has in mind—wants to give him exactly what he wants. 

“I want you to fuck me, baby. There were people out there buying me drinks all night, flirting even. I was polite, but all I could think about was you.”

A flare of jealousy spikes through Keith’s chest, dulling to embers in the pit of his stomach as Shiro crowds Keith back against the wall and presses their hips together. 

“You,” Shiro repeats rubbing against Keith, “all I could think about was you. You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. So fierce and strong and pretty. I’ve been thinking about you touching me all night.”

“How do you want me to touch you?” Keith asks, tilting his chin up to stare into Shiro’s eyes. He’s got an idea but he doesn’t know for sure. Besides, he really wants to hear Shiro say it. 

“Touch me like you mean it. I wanna feel you everywhere. God, baby, I’ve been thinking about you for hours. I want those perfect hands of yours touching me, everywhere. Want you to bite and suck and touch, want you to make me yours,” Shiro says.

It makes Keith dizzy to hear those words, to hear Shiro say it so plainly. He knows the liquor is doing some of the talking, if not most of it. Shiro’s not usually this vocal about his desires, which makes it all the more heady for Keith to hear them. It’s not as if he usually has any trouble knowing what Shiro wants—the man’s an open book if you know what to look for. Keith’s used to falling into bed—or an empty room at the Garrison—and having Shiro _show_ him what he wants. Shiro’s always been a man of action, and it’s not different with sex.

Sometimes it’s running his hands down Keith’s spine and fucking Keith so good and slow that he’s a quivering mess. Sometimes it’s desperate and needy, and Shiro practically rips his clothes off to fuck him hard and fast. Other times Shiro is the one who spreads himself out on the mattress or bends himself over his own desk, eager to be fucked so hard he can barely walk. There’d even been one memorable occasion a few weeks prior where Shiro’d pressed Keith back into his bed then straddled Keith’s dick and rode him so slow and for so long Keith forgot his own name. 

Sex is never exactly the same and Keith loves that. There are times they’re too busy for either of them to get fucked and it’s just one of them dropping to their knees or shoving hands down each other’s pants for a quickie. Whatever it is, it’s always perfect, and he and Shiro haven’t had any trouble in the bedroom. Shiro might not often _tell_ Keith what he wants, but he _shows_ him.

But this—Shiro flat out saying what he wants—sends Keith’s heart skyrocketing out of his chest. He wants to hear more. 

“How do you want it?” Keith asks, desperate to hear Shiro say it. 

Shiro doesn’t answer immediately, too distracted staring at Keith’s mouth and rocking his hips against Keith’s in a slow pace that isn’t gonna get either of them any closer to coming. It’s good, but not good enough. Keith wants more and he knows Shiro does too. He’s just gotta get him to say it. 

An idea takes shape in Keith’s mind, and he moves his hands from Shiro’s waist to fist in his shirt as he pulls him down for a kiss. There’s nothing soft or sweet about it. Keith kisses Shiro like he means it—crushing his lips against Shiro’s firm and desperate, just how Shiro likes. Shiro’s exhale is immediate, his entire body opening up to Keith like a flower for the sun. Keith knows the only thing Shiro likes more than kissing is when the kissing gets a little filthy, so he slips his tongue into Shiro’s mouth and drags it along the inside of Shiro’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and nibbling just this side of too hard. Shiro keens, slamming just hands against the shimmering tile wall on either side of Keith’s head as he moans. 

Just when Shiro sounds like he might very well come from being kissed, Keith yanks his head back. It thuds against the wall but he ignores the sting in favor of admiring his handiwork—Shiro’s eyes are blown wide with lust and his bottom lip is pink and swollen, and it’s all because of Keith. 

Keith inhales a deep breath, filling his lungs with air as his chest swells with pride and affection that out of everyone in the universe, Shiro chose Keith. He doesn’t think he will ever stop feeling awed.

“Come on, princess,” Keith whispers, watching as Shiro’s cheeks flush an alluring dusty rose at the nickname. He’s only used it once before, but Shiro’s reaction that first time had been good enough for Keith to file it away to see if it’d been a fluke. Apparently not. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, baby.”

Keith huffs out a laugh. The only thing Shiro isn’t ever bashful about is his desire for Keith. After so many years spent feeling unwanted, it’s a revelation to wake up every day knowing how deeply Shiro wants him in every way. 

“I got that impression,” Keith smirks, reaching out to drag his fingertips down Shiro’s chest, settling them low at his open waistband. 

Shiro inhales sharply through his nose as Keith wiggles his fingers down into the opening, the back of his knuckles grazing Shiro’s dick as as he slowly works Shiro’s zipper down with his thumb.

“Keith.”

“Yeah, Shiro. Yeah.”

“ _Keith._ ”

“Tell me,” Keith urges, flexing his fingers so the knuckles rub up the underside of Shiro’s dick. “You know I’ll give you anything you want. You want me to drop to my knees and blow you? Want me to spin you around and eat you out until you’re so desperate for more your metal fingers scratch into the tile wall? Or something else? Something new maybe?”

Shiro’s eyes are nearly shut, his tongue stuck out between his pearly white teeth and his chest is heaving. The thin mask of control Shiro always wears is gone, leaving him stripped bare. He’s nothing more than a mass of desperation and want. Keith’s not used to seeing Shiro look vulnerable like this. It makes him ache. 

He wants to give Shiro fucking everything he’s ever wanted. 

“You know you wanna tell me,” Keith whispers, turning his hand so the soft inside of his palm that slides down Shiro’s dick this time. “You keep so much inside don’t you? But you can let this out. You’re safe with me, Shiro. Whatever you want you can tell me.”

Shiro’s breath hitches. 

“Could you...uh,” but Shiro breaks off without finishing his question. 

“Could I what?” Keith questions, his palm sliding up Shiro’s dick with a pressure so light he knows it won’t do anything but make Shiro hornier. 

Shiro licks his lips, swaying on his feet as he tries to arch into Keith’s touch. “Remember last month.”

“I’m gonna need a little more information than that, birthday boy,” Keith says, pressing a kiss to the side of Shiro’s jaw before baring his teeth and grazing them down the pretty arch of his neck.

“Fuck,” Shiro groans, the sound of his metal fingers scratching the tile filling Keith’s ears. 

“The training simulation we did with the new cadets,” Shiro grunts, his chest shuddering as he attempts to tell Keith what he wants. 

Keith thinks back to the exercise they’d done that day, trying to recall if he’d done anything special. He doesn’t think so. Especially nothing that might involve sex. 

At Keith’s blank stare Shiro continues, though it’s obvious it’s taking a great deal of his self-control. “You know...towards the end. Lance went off program to show off and landed one of the targets on my leg so I had to pretend to be wounded.”

Oh. That.

“You want a piggyback ride?” Keith asks, unsure how that might work but willing to try anything Shiro wants at least once.

Shiro groans. “No.”

“Then you want...something else,” Keith murmurs in between peppering kisses along the red lines standing out on Shiro’s pale neck from his teeth. He’s hoping between the kisses and the alcohol, he can distract Shiro enough he won’t be able to get too far into his head and overthink. 

“You’re so fucking strong, baby,” Shiro gasps, his dick leaking against the inside of Keith’s wrist. 

“You like that I’m strong, princess?”

The sound Shiro makes it answer enough, but if it wasn’t, the way he whimpers _yes_ would leave Keith in no doubt. 

“You’re so big and strong, Shiro. But I’m strong too. You like that I can handle you?” Keith cups Shiro’s balls as he asks, giving them a firm squeeze. 

“Yes,” Shiro moans, thick eyelashes fluttering as he tries to keep his eyes open. He fails when Keith rolls his balls.

“Tell me,” Keith urges. “Tell me what you want.”

Shiro’s Adam’s apple bobs as he audibly swallows. “Baby.”

He looks so close to losing control.

“Yeah, I’m yours and you’re mine,” Keith tells him, slipping his hand down as far as it’ll go to graze his nails over the sensitive skin at Shiro’s upper thigh. “Let me give you what you want, Shiro. Please.”

It's got to be the _please_ that does it, because Shiro’s eyes fly open as the last syllable falls from Keith’s lips. Shiro rolls his hips, eyes heavy-lidded and full of desire. 

“I want you to hold me up against the wall and fuck me,” Shiro says, as if he’d just confessed intergalactic secrets and not that he apparently gets off on how strong Keith is. 

Pleasure settles in Keith’s chest at the confession. Shiro is big. Really fucking big. Most people couldn’t pick him up. But Keith can. He’s always been stronger than people expected, something he now knows is due to his Galra genes. If he can use that strength, not to fight evil, but to hold up his very large boyfriend and give him the birthday fucking of his life, then it’s a good day. Or night. 

Keith withdraws his hand from the front of Shiro’s pants, ignoring the little whine of displeasure as he dances his fingers around Shiro’s hip to slip his thumbs into Shiro’s waistband and tug his jeans and boxers down—settling them under the curve of his voluminous ass. He gives each of the plush cheeks a squeeze, delighting in the way Shiro’s breath catches. Shiro loves attention paid to his ass about as much as Keith loves to lavish attention into it. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so good when we walk out of here every single person is gonna know what we did—they’re gonna watch you walk down those stairs on shaky legs and know I’m the one who made you tremble.”

“Jesus Christ, baby.”

“Is that what you want? Want me to hold you up—to dig my hands in here,” he asks, trailing his fingertips lower to spread Shiro’s ass apart, surprised to feel a trail of slickness. 

Shiro’s neck flushes red as Keith spreads him wider, sliding his fingers lower. Shiro’s hole is just as slick, if not more so, and when Keith slides a finger over the furrowed skin it pops in easily with absolutely no resistance.

“I wanted you,” Shiro whispers, arching his hips back to try and take Keith’s finger deeper. “You were late and I’d had a few drinks and people kept touching me like they knew me and all I could think about was you.”

“Shiro, did you come up here and get off while you thought about me?” Keith groans, the idea unbelievably hot. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Didn’t get off. Didn’t touch my cock. Just used the lube I brought to stretch myself. For you.”

Keith bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. 

Obviously impatient, Shiro’s prosthetic moves down and around his back so that his metal fingers wrap gently around Keith’s wrist urging Keith’s finger in deeper. Shiro’s body accepts him easily, and it’s all Keith can do not to just get Shiro off like this—to drop to his knees and choke on Shiro’s dick until his eyes water as he fingers Shiro to tears. 

“How long?” Keith grunts, slipping in a second finger. Shiro doesn’t need the prep but Keith has always enjoyed the way it feels to get his mouth or fingers or dick inside of Shiro. A possessive, almost primal part of Keith rejoices at the erotic intimacy of a part of his body joining with Shiro’s. The horny part of Keith’s brain goes feral at the privilege of licking or fucking his way inside of Shiro’s body and watching the way Shiro responds to it. “How long were you standing at that bar all slicked up and horny, waiting for me?”

“So long,” Shiro nearly sobs, metal fingers tightening a bit at Keith’s wrist. “God, Keith. More. More.”

“You like this so much don’t you?” Keith groans, slipping a third finger in. 

Shiro’s so wet he’s nearly dripping, and Keith can only imagine Shiro relaxed and happy—and maybe a little tipsy—hanging out at the bar, squirming as lube dripped out of his ass. Outside of the bedroom Shiro’s all prim and proper, but in the bedroom he likes it dirty which Keith learned the first time Shiro used nearly half a bottle of lube just to hear the filthy squelch as he’d fucked Keith senseless. 

The idea of Shiro holed up in this fancy bathroom all alone as the sounds of the club filtered in through the crack beneath the door is a lot for Keith to handle. Then again, everything about Shiro is a lot for Keith to handle. Keith can perfectly imagine the look of concentration that must’ve been on Shiro’s face—thick eyebrows furrowed and tongue protruding between pursed lips—as he’d coated up his fingers and slipped them inside his body one by one until he was stretched and aching for Keith. Maybe he even imagined his fingers were Keith’s dick as he brought himself close to the edge and then stopped, wanting Keith more than his own release. The idea makes Keith’s head spin. Every time he thinks he can’t want Shiro more he does. 

“Fuck me,” Shiro begs, shuddering as he sucks in a deep breath and rocks his hips back against Keith’s fingers. He’s so fucking pretty when he begs, and Keith’s own neglected cock twitches pathetically in his pants. 

“When I’m done with you, everyone will know you’re mine,” Keith tells him slipping another finger past Shiro’s rim. Keith nearly shoots off in his pants just thinking about Shiro splitting himself open so he’d be ready for Keith, about how easy his dick is going to fit inside of Shiro’s body.

“Don’t tease me,” Shiro huffs, his fingers trembling at Keith’s wrist.

“Oh, Shiro,” Keith whispers, “I’m not teasing.”

To prove his point, he nuzzles against the side of Shiro’s throat, nosing his way up until he locates the fluttering pulse point just below the sharp angle of his jaw and mouthing at it—little jabs with his tongue to gauge how fast Shiro’s pulse is going before baring his teeth and letting them graze over the sensitive flesh. Just as expected, Shiro’s pulse quickens. Keith knows exactly how much Shiro enjoys to really _feel_ it—how much he loves when Keith’s hands or mouth leave marks that take days to fade. He’s caught Shiro staring at the effects of some of their more intense lovemaking in the mirror before he buttons up his Admiral’s uniform more than once, grazing his thick fingers over the nail and teeth marks across his chest, or pressing them into the kiss-bruised skin when Keith leaves the marks high enough that someone paying enough attention might realize what’s hidden beneath the collar of their beloved Admiral. 

Keith’s not exactly sure what it is about seeing the marks on Shiro’s skin that soothes him, nor is he entirely sure why Shiro wears them as proudly as the stripes on his Garrison uniform. All he knows for sure is that the jagged edges of his heart fit together with Shiro’s in a way that makes Keith feel more than whole, and the little marks he leaves on Shiro’s skin feel like proof that this isn’t a dream and he and Shiro are both alive and safe and _together_. 

Growing up Keith hadn’t believed in true love or soulmates or anything remotely like that but when he looks at Shiro he thinks he believes. 

“Mine,” Keith tells him, words rumbling out of his chest like a low growl.

“Yours,” Shiro echoes, body writhing as he tries to spread his legs wider but is prevented by his jeans around his thighs.

Keith removes his mouth from Shiro’s neck, sparing only a brief second to admire the red mark blossoming, high enough it’ll definitely show tomorrow, before dropping to his knees to help Shiro out of his boots and pants. When he’s done, he lifts his eyes up to admire his handiwork, watching as Shiro spreads his legs and sucks in a deep breath. His dick is so close, bobbing to the side and leaking precome from the tip. The temptation to swallow it down is strong, but there’s somewhere else Keith wants his mouth.

“Turn around,” Keith instructs, fingertips grazing down the thick dusting of white hair over Shiro’s upper thighs.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me,” Shiro says in lieu of compliance.

Keith tilts his chin up to grin at Shiro, letting his nails press into the muscled flesh of Shiro’s thick thighs. “I am. With my tongue.”

“Oh...ok,” Shiro breathes, moving to face the wall. He turns his feet out, arching his hips and spreading his thighs as he braces his hands on the tile wall and arches towards Keith. The recessed lighting casts a purple glow on Shiro’s flushed skin, and makes the silk shirt fluttering just above the swell of his ass look nearly translucent. For a moment, Keith wonders what people would think if they could see Shiro like this spread out and so eager, but they cant. They won’t ever. This is a sight just for Keith, and a thrill of possessive pride runs through his heart straight to his dick.

“Look at you,” Keith whispers, running the backs of his nails from Shiro’s heels up over the swell of his muscular calves and along the inside of the most tender parts of his thighs until he gets to the swell of his ass. Then he repeats his previous action, getting a mouthful of the tender flesh. Except this time there’s no thick material in his way to stop him from leaving a red crescent mark in the center of Shiro’s right ass cheek. 

Keith appreciates every single thing about Shiro. His body is a thing of beauty—every curve of muscle, every scar, and every beautiful white hair on his body—proof of his resilience and strength. But his ass, his ass is Keith’s favorite. He’d happily spend hours laying worship to the pert globes, biting and sucking and squeezing until Shiro’s a leaking, weeping mess.

Like he is now.

Keith hums his appreciation, digging his fingers into the cheeks as he nips his way to the other side, then wedging his thumbs into the crack and spreading Shiro’s cheeks apart. Shiro widens his stance and drops his head down between his arms as he presses his ass into Keith’s face. He hiccups out a moan as his legs tremble, and Keith soothes his hands over the fluttering thigh muscles.

“Fuck, you’re pretty like this,” Keith tells him, delighting in the way Shiro’s entire body flushes from the praise. “So gorgeous.”

“Keith.”

“It’s true. You’re so pretty, Shiro. So beautiful. Just for me.”

Shiro sobs, his toes flexing on the tile floor as he wiggles back.

“If you like it so much then—” But Shiro doesn't finish the thought, dissolving into a string of grunts and moans that make Keith’s dick ache.

“Then what?” Keith asks, pulling Shiro’s ass apart so wide his puckered hole flutters open. Instead of filling it with his fingers or tongue, he rubs his cheek against Shiro’s ass, letting his nose dig into Shiro’s crack.

“Fucking...fuck,” Shiro groans, slamming his hand against the tile wall.

“Mmm, fuck indeed,” Keith hums, taking his sweet time. “You want me to fuck your pretty little hole with my mouth?”

“Please,” Shiro sobs. “Please.”

Keith might like to tease Shiro a little, but he knows Shiro’s limits as well as his own and this is it. There’s a quiver in Shiro’s voice that Keith isn’t going to push.

“Yes, sir,” Keith whispers, letting his eyes flutter shut as he noses against Shiro’s most private spot and inhales deeply—overwhelmed by the scent of Shiro’s arousal and whatever fruity lube he’d used. Keith knows eating ass isn’t everyone’s favorite, but he’s pretty sure if Shiro let him, he’d eat him out for every meal. There’s something erotic about the scent there—a little more musky, almost deeper. Maybe it’s Keith’s Galra side that makes him love this so much, maybe its something all Keith, or maybe Shiro’s ass is just that delicious. Before he digs his tongue in, he pauses to appreciate the sight of Shiro’s puckered flesh quivering before Keith’s tongue peeks out between his lips to out to run across the sensitive skin. It flutters beneath his tongue and Keith spreads him wide, slipping his tongue into the small channel and running it in a circle around the ring of relaxed muscle. 

Shiro howls with pleasure, then does it even louder when Keith slips his thumbs into Shiro’s ass to spread him wide open and watch the way his hole shimmers with spit and lube. Shiro’s practically hyperventilating now, wiggling his hips back and aching to be filled.

It’s absolutely filthy the way Shiro sobs, and Keith finds himself intoxicated by the sounds as he messily laps along Shiro’s asshole and pushes his tongue inside. Keith loves the scent and taste of Shiro there as much as he loves the way Shiro dissolves into a quivering mess every time Keith does this. Keith knows Shiro feels selfish asking for this as much as he wants it, thinks it's somehow just for him. What he doesn’t seem to understand is that making Shiro feel good makes Keith feel good. So good he might very nearly shoot off in his fucking jeans from tongue fucking Shiro—drool sliding down his tongue and lube smeared across his lips.

Keith can’t imagine what he looks like, but if he looks half as wrecked as Shiro sounds then everyone in the club is going to know exactly what they were doing in here, and somehow that knowledge just makes Keith harder.

As much as he wants to stay on his knees worshiping Shiro’s ass, Keith only has so much self-control. If Shiro keeps making the sounds he’s making now, sounds that are reverberating off the tile walls and echoing in Keith’s chest, then Keith is going to come in his pants untouched. Normally, Keith wouldn’t mind that so much, but tonight that’s not good enough. Tonight Shiro wants a good fucking, and thats exactly what Keith wants to give him.

Without giving Shiro any warning, Keith drops his hands and scoots back—eyes riveted to the hickey and bite marks adorning Shiro’s ass. The sound of disappointment Shiro makes as his toes curl and his back arches is almost enough to get Keith to burrow his face between the warmth of Shiro’s cheeks again—almost.

He knows he needs to move, to get back on his feet and get rid of his clothes. But the sight of lube and spit cascading down the inside of Shiro’s trembling thighs is alluring. Then Shiro turns—head dropping against the tile wall, and feet spread wide. He looks even more disheveled than Keith thought he might, with his eyes blown wide with lust, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his massive fucking dick flushed pink and dripping against his hip. 

Unable to resist temptation, Keith begins to inch forward on his knees, delighted by the single-minded focus of Shiro’s gaze as he darts his tongue out to lick the precome off the tip. Shiro inhales sharply as Keith laps at the cockhead, licking it clean but never fully taking it in his mouth.

“Keith.”

“Yeah, Shiro?” Keith asks, turning his eyes up on Shiro as he pops open the button on his jeans and inches the zipper down slowly, careful not to catch it on his dick which is taking up considerably more room in his stupid pants than it was when he’d gotten dressed an hour ago. 

Shiro licks his lips, his gaze flickering between Keith’s crotch as he adjusts his hips and pulls out his dick and Keith’s face. He expects Shiro to joke or whine about being teased again. He doesn’t expect the words that fall from Shiro’s lips.

“I love you,” Shiro whispers, chest heaving with the words. “I love you so fucking much. You’re so perfect. I’m so fucking happy, baby.”

All the air is punched from Keith's lungs and his heart grows three sizes right then and there. Keith can feel his jaw quiver as he opens his mouth to respond then snaps it shut. It shouldn’t be possible for those words to sound so heartfelt and romantic with Keith on his knees in a bathroom and Shiro standing there looking like that. And yet, the way Shiro says it, it is. All Keith wants to do, all he ever wants to do really, is make Shiro feel good—to make him feel one tenth of the love and adoration and joy that Keith feels every time they’re together. 

He opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. It’s not like Keith hasn’t told him he loves him before, more times than he can count, but the words just won’t come. Keith looks at Shiro standing there before him—half-naked and aroused, stripped bare—and Keith is undone. He’s looking down at Keith like he’s the most precious thing in the entire fucking world, and Keith can barely breathe.

There aren’t words in any human or Galran language sufficient enough for Keith to express how fucking much he loves Shiro. The things Keith wants to say feel clumsy and cliche, but the truth is the stars shine brighter and the sun feels warmer with Shiro at his side. His worst day is better because of Shiro, and his best days are so good he forgets to think he doesn’t deserve them. 

He looks at Shiro and all he can think is _you’re it for me_. He looks at him and knows a thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to love Shiro the way he deserves. 

Words are inadequate. Words could never convey the depth of Keith’s affection. If he tries though, maybe Keith can _show_ him.

Keith rises to stand, unwilling to take the time to undress and simply shoves his jeans down to his knees. Shiro’s lips fall open as he watches Keith with a softness that shouldn’t be possible given his level of inebriation and how dirty what they’re doing is.

Or maybe Keith is the soft one, because all he can think as he looks at Shiro bathed in purple light is that he looks like some kind of fucking angel. He’s so goddamn beautiful it makes his heart leap into his throat and his dick twitch, leaking precome and aching for attention. Keith can’t wait any longer. Shiro is his. The entire fucking universe thinks they know Shiro, has tried to take Shiro from him at one time or another, but Shiro is exactly where he belongs—with Keith.

“Mine,” Keith croaks, digging his fingers into the meaty flesh of Shiro’s thighs. 

“Yeah, baby. That’s right. I’m yours. And you take such good care of me don’t you? You make me feel so good. You make me so happy. No one could take care of me the way you do. No one.”

It’s Keith turn choke back a sob as he wraps his hands just below Shiro’s ass and hefts him up in one easy go. Shiro’s eyes widen, and he bites his lip as he wraps his legs around Keith’s waist.

He can feel Shiro waiting, holding back as Keith adjusts his stance and ensures his grip is just right. Shiro’s heavy but it’s nothing Keith can’t handle.

“Fuck, you’re so strong.”

Pride fills Keith's chest. He’s never cared what people think about him. He doesn’t care if other people look at him and think he’s too much or not enough. But something about the way Shiro looks at him, the way it feels to be praised by him, sets Keith on fire.

“I could do this all day,” Keith tells him. It’s not entirely true, not because Keith’s arms or legs would give out, but because he’s so fucking turned on and overwhelmed and he knows he’s not going to last as long as he wants. His best hope is getting Shiro so worked up he comes first.

“All day, huh?” Shiro huffs, arms twining around Keith’s neck as he leans in close.

“Yes,” Keith says, digging his nails into Shiro’s ass hard enough to leave little crescents when Shiro kisses him. All things considered it’s chaste, but holding Shiro like this he can feel every tremble in his body, can practically feel his heart rattling in his chest and feel the little sigh of pleasure as Shiro’s lips touch Keiths. The knowledge that every one of those things is for Keith—because of Keith—is too much.

“I love you,” Keith murmurs against Shiro’s lips. Lips which curl up in a smile against Keith’s as Shiro twists his fingers in the long hairs at the back of Keith’s neck. 

“Come on, baby, show me just how strong you are,” Shiro urges, rocking his hips just enough for Shiro’s dick to smear a fresh stripe of precome across the front of Keith’s red t-shirt. 

Those words give Keith the little bit of extra strength he needs to hold up all Shiro’s weight with just his left arm. He can feel the burn of the brunt of the extra weight, but it’s a good burn, especially combined with the way Shiro moans unabashedly as he realizes what Keith’s doing. 

“This is how strong I am,” Keith tells him, heart beating erratically as he grabs the base of his dick and lines it up with Shiro’s ass and guides the cockhead in. Objectively, Keith is aware of how ready Shiro is, but he’s still a little unprepared for just how easy it is to slip into the slick warmth of Shiro’s body. 

Shiro’s mouth falls open on a moan as Keith moves his hand back to Shiro’s ass and slides his dick all the way in. Once fully seated Keith takes a moment to pause, then realizes he won’t get the angle just right—not with his hands on Shiro’s ass. 

“Do you trust me?” Keith asks.

“Wha—yes,” Shiro says through an exhale. 

Keith can tell he’s resisting the urge to move, knows exactly how Shiro likes to be fucked—hard and deep—not shallow little thrusts which is all Keith can manage like this. 

If he changes positions though, well—that might be another story. 

“Hold on tight, around my neck,” Keith tells him. It’s all the warning Shiro gets before Keith hefts him up throws him a few inches into the air so he can get Shiro in just the right position—his hands falling on either side of Shiro’s taut waist and the backs of Shiro’s knees dropping onto the crooks of Keith’s elbow. 

It’s the perfect position for Keith to do exactly what he’s been dying to do since the moment he walked into the club and saw Shiro—fuck him senseless. 

Keith bends his legs at the knee and begins to rock his hips with single-minded focus. Each thrust has Keith’s hips slapping against Shiro’s ass as his dick slams into Shiro and sends him practically flying through the air. The only thing keeping Shiro in place is the firm grip he’s got around Keith’s neck and Keith’s hands at his waist. 

“Mine,” Keith groans, fingers digging into Shiro’s waist hard enough there will be marks there tomorrow. 

Shiro looks like he wants to say something but the words come out gurgled and broken as Keith slams his hips up hard and deep. Instead of words all that falls from Shiro’s lips are pretty little moans as he gasps and grunts.

He grips Shiro’s waist even tighter, his heart skipping a beat as he imagines Shiro tomorrow sprawled out in their bed sleepy and content and his pale skin dotted with signs of Keith. He can see it now—tugging down the white sheet to ghost his fingers from the curve of Shro’s neck and down his chest, lavishing gentle kisses to tiny little bruises on his hips before rolling Shiro onto his stomach and spending the entire morning feasting on Shiro. He’ll be so sleepy and warm, so relaxed as Keith slips a tongue and finger inside of him, watching as Shiro arches beneath the soft morning light Atlas is sure to provide.

“Mine,” Keith repeats, feeling wild and frenzied and watching the ring at Shiro’s neck jangle with every forceful thrust. It’s a delicate little chime as the metal clinks together, at odds with the filthy sounds of Keith fucking Shiro. The chain is strong but delicate , and the ring glimmers under the overly bright bathroom lights, revealing the words engraved on the inside— _as many times as it takes_ It’s not an engagement ring, not really. Not because Keith doesn’t want Shiro to be his forever, but because he already is. Keith doesn’t need a stupid piece of paper or someone else’s idea of commitment to prove that to anyone. All he needs is Shiro, and he’s already got him. 

_”I’m yours, and you're mine_ Keith had whispered, slipping the little box into Shiro’s hand that morning before work. 

Shiro had looked near tears as Keith had fastened the chain around his neck and Keith had teased him for being sentimental. The jokes on Keith now though, since he’s the one who feels moisture pool at the corner of his eyes as he watches the little ring settle into the hollow of Shiro’s collar bone, watches Shiro gasp and moan for him, and knows he’s holding his entire universe in his arms.

Shiro is perfect and Keith loves him so fucking much.

“Mine,” Keith says again—the word a steady beat in his heart. Shiro’s mouth falls open on breathy _yours_ and Keith is unable to slow the arousal clawing its way up his spine. Shiro arches midair before falling down onto Keith’s dick with a moan so loud it echoes off the tile walls then settles straight into Keith’s soul. 

He thrusts again, harder this time—legs shaking and a sheen of sweat making his hair stick to his forehead—but his gaze is rooted to the pleasure on Shiro’s face and the way his bangs flop through the air when his entire body is sent soaring with every thrust. Keith’s fingers grip Shiro’s waist tighter, pulling him back down onto his dick hard and fast.

He’s close—so fucking close—but he wants Shiro to come first. He needs him to come first.

“Show me how good I make you feel,” Keith chokes out, unsure if it’s a command or a plea.

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro sobs, surging up to crash his lips to Keith’s in a kiss with more intensity than finesse.

The unexpected movement nearly sends them crashing but Keith adjusts, shuffling his feet forward until Shiro’s back slams against the tile, allowing him to practically devour Shiro’s mouth. Shiro makes a guttural, punched-out sound as he tugs on the hair at the back of Keith’s neck and crosses his ankles behind Keith’s back, pulling Keith’s dick into his body as deep as it’ll go. It’s still not deep enough.

Keith feels fucking crazy, can’t believe that every single time he touches Shiro he somehow wants him more.  
“So good,” Shiro moans as Keith slams up into him, pulling out of the kiss and dropping his head back against the tile with a loud thud as his entire body arches. “No one’s ever made me feel so good, baby.”

“And they never will,” Keith all but growls, so close to tipping over the edge. His every nerve ending is split open——his soul frayed and frazzled—and his body begging for the kind of release only Shiro can provide. 

It just hits Keith sometimes that this isn’t a dream, that Shiro is alive and _his_. That they’re safe and happy and that forever isn’t a fantasy anymore but his future.

“Come,” Keith urges, bracing Shiro’s weight against the wall as he reaches between their bodies to wrap his hand around Shiro’s dick. All it takes is one more thrust and a firm stroke from Keith’s fingers before Shiro’s coming between them covering both their shirts in his sticky release.

He strokes Shiro through his orgasm, his hips snapping up one final time before Keith feels his own orgasm rip through his body. He darts forward to press his face into Shiro's neck in a futile attempt to mask the broken whimper he can hear himself making.

“Oh, baby,” Shiro says breathlessly, his voice a little raw and broken. He soothes a thumb down the back of Keith’s neck, the tips of his fingers tracing a circle on the little bit of hidden skin. “You’re so good.”

Keith makes another sound that, were it anyone but Shiro, he would be embarrassed by. As it is, the most he can do is try to remember how to breathe as Shiro’s legs fall to the floor and dislodge Keith’s softening dick from his body. 

“Fuck, my legs feel funny,” Shiro shaking them out and tipping his head back against the wall with a sigh. 

“S’ok, I’ve got you,” Keith whispers, moving his arms beneath Shiro’s shoulders to steady him.

“You always do,” Shiro says, a look so soft on his face it makes Keith melt..

“Sap,” Keith grumbles, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Shiro’s neck.

“Look who’s talking,” Shiro laughs, the sound rumbling against Keith’s chest.

“Smartass,” Keith snorts, too blissed out and exhausted to think of a more witty retort. 

Thankfully Shiro seems to be in much of the same state, because instead of responding he just lets out a soft little sigh as he nuzzles into the top of Keith’s hair like a puppy. They stay like that for a few minutes, standing there basking in the afterglow. Keith is pretty sure he could stay like this forever, content to revel in the loud thud of Shiro’s heartbeat as it evens out into something slow and melodic as his big hands weave through Keith’s hair. 

Eventually though, the real world beckons. Keith’s not sure what time it is, but if they don’t rejoin their friends soon he knows at least one of them—likely Lance—will come banging on the bathroom door. Or worse, just barge in. Neither of which Keith wants.

“Come on big boy, time to clean up,” Keith says, patting Shiro’s thigh. 

Shiro grunts, shaking his head against Keith’s hair. Keith’s not sure if Shiro’s legs still feel funny, or if he’s just in a haze of being fucked senseless and he's being lazy. Either way, Keith’s alright with bearing Shiro’s weight once more, shoving his dick back into his pants then picking Shiro up in a bridal carry so as not to put any more strain on his legs just in case. 

Shiro’s eyes fly open and his face, if possible, goes even redder. 

“You’re taking this birthday wish very seriously,” Shiro murmurs, looking inordinately pleased by the turn of events.

“Well it’s not every day you turn seven.”

Shiro barks out a laugh as Keith deposits him on the black leather sofa in the corner. It looks way too nice to be a club bathroom. Then again, everything in here looks nicer than anything Keith’s ever seen—shimmering tiles backlit by the recessed purple lighting, sleek porcelain and gold fixtures and a pearlized sink. Keith had been so preoccupied with fucking Shiro he’d barely been aware of their surroundings, but he is now and they’re fancy as fuck. Fancy enough there’s even a little basket of what looks like toiletries. 

He spares a glance at Shiro who has apparently reached the inability-to-hold-liquor phase where he gets sleepy—his arm thrown back over his head and his eyes heavy-lidded as they track Keith’s movement across the bathroom. He grabs a few of thick paper towels, wetting them enough to roughly wipe as much of the come off his shirt as he can, before turning his attention to the little basket. There are various little wipes, a few single use colognes and even a few condoms. Apparently he and Shiro are not the first to make good use of the private bathroom. 

Keith rifles through the samples, ignoring the scents he knows Shiro won’t like and settling on one at the bottom simply called _fresh and clean_. He grabs a second wipe just in case and a few wet paper towels before returning to Shiro’s side. 

The lazy smile Shiro gives Keith as he settles into the edge of the couch beside Shiro’s legs makes his heart flutter uncontrollably. Shiro is unfairly handsome and this—Shiro spread out half-naked and utterly wrecked—is something out of a dream. 

“You’re so pretty,” Shiro whispers, as if Keith is the gorgeous one.

Keith knows what he looks like, his shirt a mess with streaks of water and come stains, his hair looks like he lost a fight with a Robeast. He’s a fucking mess. But when Shiro looks at him like he is now, it makes Keith _feel_ pretty. 

“You’re the pretty one,” Keith mutters, ducking his head. 

“Oh. Thank you, Keith.”

His easy acceptance of Keith’s praise makes pleasure curl in Keith’s gut. Back when they’d first got together, Shiro had been horrible at letting Keith compliment him, especially about his looks. They’ve come so far though, together. He knows Shiro doesn’t always feel as beautiful as Keith is constantly telling him he is, that his body doesn’t always feel like his own. It makes it all the more precious when Shiro doesn’t deny it, when his cheeks flush with pleasure at the compliment and he gives himself up to Keith’s appreciative gaze. 

Shiro is the most beautiful person in any universe and Keith will happily spend the rest of his life making sure Shiro knows it. 

“How do you feel?” Keith asks, trying to remove the evidence of their bathroom escapades off Shiro’s shirt with the paper towels as good as he can without ruining it. 

“Good,” he answers, smiling lazily at Keith. “So damn good, baby.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a loon, ripping open the towelette and using it to clean the stickiness off Shiro’s hips and thighs. For his part, Shiro exhales softly at the attention, throwing his arms over his head again and lifting his knee to spread his legs wide. It gives Keith access to the swell of his ass. He’s extra careful there, swiping the towel over Shiro’s delicate flesh until he’s satisfied there’s nothing sticky left, but then does it a few times more. Just to be sure. 

All the while Shiro hums in clear contentment, his body lax and Keith doesn’t take for granted how precious it is to see Shiro so very relaxed. 

The moment doesn’t last long though before there’s a loud banging on the bathroom door. 

“Fuck off,” Keith yells, ready to fight whoever it is disturbing Shiro’s last few minutes of peace. 

“You fuck off,” an all-too-familiar voice yells. “Unless you already did. Is that why you two have been gone so long? Please say yes. Pidge will owe me fifty GAC.”

Shiro peeks out from behind the crook of his elbow looking amused. Keith just feels annoyed. 

“Go away, Lance,” Keith yells. 

“No,” Lance yells back. For some reason he bangs on the door again. “Allura promised I could go home with her if I came and got you. Come on man, help me out she’s so beautiful.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at Shiro as if to say _can you believe this?_

“You wanna tell him he and Allura live together or should I?” Shiro laughs. 

“Neither,” Keith snorts. 

“She’s way out of your league, Lance!” He hollars loud enough Lance will be sure to hear him through the closed door. 

The banging stops, followed by what sounds suspiciously like Lance collapsing against the door. “Dude, help a friend out. She’s so...so—“

“Oh, come on, we’ve gotta help him out,” Shiro says, pushing himself into a sitting position. His dick is still out, his skin flushed a pretty pink. Keith wants to ravish him again. But Shiro’s right, the only person who holds their liquor worse than Shiro is Lance. There’s a very real chance he might dissolve into tears at any moment over how much he loves Allura. 

“Fine,” Keith grumbles, hopping off the couch and holding a hand out to Shiro. 

Shiro grips Keith’s hand, grinning when Keith easily hefts him up and off the couch before retrieving Shiro’s pants and boots for him. Shiro dresses quickly, with a little help from Keith anyway. 

By the time they get the bathroom door open, sure enough Lance is pooled on the floor in a heap, muttering into his beer about Allura’s perfection. It’s pathetic and a little sweet, and Keith can’t even be annoyed because he knows exactly what it feels like to love someone you think is better than you. 

“Come on, asshole,” Keith says, holding a hand out to Lance. “Let’s go find your better half.”

Lance jumps up so fast he nearly falls down the stairs, saved only by Shiro’s quick instincts as his prosthetic flows around Keith and grabs ahold of the back of Lance’s shirt. 

“M’fine,” Lance says with a wave of his hand, though he nearly falls down the next set of steps again. 

Keith isn’t at all surprised when Shiro keeps his prosthetic fisted in Lance’s shirt as he sways down the steps. 

“Maybe when we leave we can stop on the way home and find a cake,” Shiro says, slipping his left hand in Keith’s as they descend the stairs several paces behind Lance.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Keith says evasively.

“Why?” Shiro asks, tapping his fingers across the top of Keith’s hand. 

“Can’t tell you. I was sworn to intergalactic secrecy. Let’s just say by the end of the night you’ll be a very happy birthday boy.”

“I already am,” Shiro responds, tilting sideways to kiss Keith’s cheek. “It’s been a good birthday.”

It’s such a small thing to say, but it makes Keith’s chest constrict as he thinks back to Shiro’s pre-Kerberos confessions about hating his birthday—always forgotten or teased as a child because of the leap year and then as he’d gotten older and his disease progressed, feeling like it was a ticking time bomb reminding him of his mortality. Reminding him with every passing calendar year that his dreams might outlive his body. 

Shiro agreeing to let the Paladins celebrate his birthday like this had been for their benefit, or at least Shiro had claimed. But Keith can see the quiet happiness radiating off Shiro in waves as they trail behind Lance and make their way through the crowded dance floor and back to their friends. Allura and Pidge are standing on the booth singing, and Hunk is—well Keith’s not sure what he’s doing, but he looks happy. They all look happy. 

It’s a happiness that was hard won and much deserved, and as Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand and guides him up to the stairs all he can think is that the future he always dreamed of is happening now. The world is safe, he’s got friends that feel like family and he’s in love with his best friend in the entire universe. It’s hard for Keith to believe there had been a time where he had nothing, when now his life is so damn full. 

As they clamber into the VIP area, Allura and Pidge pile onto Shiro knocking him down into the red leather couch. Hunk laughs loudly, joining in on the group hug. 

“Hey, don’t leave me out,” Lance cries, dropping his beer and practically throwing himself into Allura and Shiro’s lap.

“Come on, mullet, it’s called a _group_ hug for a reason.”

Keith flips off Lance, but it goes over his drunk head because he’s already turned his face to smell Allura's hair. Beneath the Paladin pile Shiro looks a little bashful at the attention, but also pleased. 

“Come on, Keith,” he whispers, beckoning Keith towards their group with a wave of his metal fingers. 

Never one to deny Shiro anything, Keith goes. If he maybe jumps a little harder than necessary on Lance earning him an elbow to the stomach and a pitiful _kiss me better, Allura_ , well, it’s worth it. 

“Happy Birthday, Shiro,” Keith says, smiling when each of the other Paladins echo him. It makes Shiro blush further, and Keith can’t wait to see how much he blushes when the entire club starts to sing _Happy Birthday_ to him in an hour or so. 

For now though it’s just him and Shiro, and their friends, and everything is perfect. 

Life, Keith thinks, is really fucking good.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Sheith with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)
> 
> also this fic now has smoking hot art thanks to ribbit so check it out [here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ribbitsplace/status/1235272580145254407)


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